


Erato

by ThatHatter



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Mild Angst, Supergirl does not exist here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatHatter/pseuds/ThatHatter
Summary: Scientists by day, artist by night (with the help of a couple drinks), the Lena sculpts what may possibly be the face of the future (and her heart).  Or:  Pygmalion and Galatea, portrayed by Lena and Kara.





	Erato

**Author's Note:**

> This all started when a friend and I were talking about fun Greek Mythology AUs and this was born. My apologies for the absurdity in advance.

The wine glass was almost empty. How frustrating. It was Lena’s third? Fourth glass of the evening? She wasn’t sure at this point. She’d had a few drinks earlier in the day, too. She set the glass down, tried to blink away some of her inebriation, and picked up a piece of sandpaper. 

Lena had discovered years ago that she was more than a bit artistic when she was drunk—and that while her sober mind would work out the logistics of virtually any invention in the span of a few hours, her drunken mind could create unparalleled works of art. Reversed, less so. Sober, her artwork looked like a child’s finger painting, and drunk, her inventions tended to be far more explosive. 

Sandpaper in hand, she smoothed the rippling cape. She sighed and dropped it. The statue was… perfect. Well, nearly perfect. It was a woman, her face gentle. A slight upward curve of her lips in a sweet smile, kind eyes, chin set in determination, wavy locks framing her face—yes, gentle in a way Lena was unfamiliar with but often dreamed about. Her body was strong, her muscles precisely sculpted, the cape drawn around her in a heroic fashion but not disguising the suit. 

The suit.

Her drunken self had pulled the worst prank on her nearly a year ago. She’d woken up to see that hateful S, the one that damned her family, proudly displayed. Mercy, but the pain of her hangover faded to nothing in the face of seeing that symbol. 

Cursing, she’d hidden the statue away in the farthest corner of her art room, buried under sheets. But like the sirens of ancient myth, it called to her. She’d tried to stay sober to stay away from it, but, well, her mother came to see her at the office, and by the time her mother had walked out of the building, Lena had already poured a drink. She thankful her driver was discrete and said nothing about her state by the time she left for the day. She’d pulled (dragged) out the statue and set to work in earnest. This happened several more times over the last year, and now it was finally done. 

And it was nearly perfect—except that the woman Lena carved, a perfect woman, did not really exist. Superman was real, very real, but he was the last of his kind, and this woman was a dream. She existed only in Lena’s fantasies, the ones she held close to her heart, eternally forbidden to the half-Luthor. 

Lena drank the last of her glass. She was so terribly lonely here in National City. She’d been there for years now. She’d survived countless attacks by her brother, survived betrayal, survived the loneliness. It wasn’t like she had any friends. She never had—she never would. She was a Luthor—a bastard, but still a Luthor. 

She laughed bitterly, stepping forward to cup a marble cheek in her palm. She sighed and rested her forehead against the cool stone of the statue’s shoulder, feeling the carefully placed wrinkles in the cape. “Pathetic,” she muttered to herself. “Fate mocks me even now.” She pushed herself back and looked into that kind, kind face. 

She ran her thumb over stone lips. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she murmured. “The god of this world seems to have forsaken me long ago, though whether it’s because of my… preferences or the circumstances of my birth, I don’t know. But what about yours, hmm? Kryptonians must have a god. Superman is the last of his kind—surely your god would want another to live as well? Superman seems intent on destroying my family, wouldn’t it be nice if you were to restore it? Not that I think you can fix my brother’s mind, or my broken soul for that matter.” She looked into stone eyes. “I must be more drunk than usual,” she told no one, then pressed her lips to the statue. 

She drew back, ready to giggle at her own folly, when the statue blinked glowing red eyes at her. Lena stumbled away, but a stone arm wrapped around her waist with a strange sort of tenderness. Red eyes blinked again, squeezing shut as the head moved side to side, shaking away dust. Blonde waves broke from the stone, muscles flexed, rending the stone until it fell away. The eyes opened. 

Blue. 

The bluest eyes Lena had ever seen looked back at her. The gentle smile she painstakingly carved was present, but the eyes. Lena had never known eyes could be so genuinely kind. 

“Lena,” the statue said her name like it was a prayer. “Rao, Sun God of Krypton, has heard your prayer and granted me true life and the memories of my people. I have listened to all that you have said as you worked. I am Kara Zor-El, and I have come to protect you and ensure that you will never alone again.” 

Lena made the only sensible choice she could in that situation—she fainted dead away.


End file.
